Lord John Thrusbeard
by SierraSunshine
Summary: A Fairy tale retelling starring You Know Who!
1. In the Beginning

A/N: Well Well, here is my fairy tale fic, one I think I will enjoy greatly. I have been putting off posting it, because I haven't had much time to think about where it is going to go, but I think I have it. Yes, This is a take on Grimm Brothers' fairy tale "King Thrushbeard" It is not set in the jungle, so I suppose it can be called alternate reality, but really its just a sappy love fic with my favorite characters! So I hope you enjoy!  
  
Disclaimer: No I don't own the characters, no I don't own the story line, well, except for the parts I am going to majorly embellish!  
  
"Father! Father!" the dark-haired princess shouted. She stomped around the corner, her long blue gown swooshing around her. "Father! Father, I need to speak with you!" Becoming more agitated, she turned around the next corner heading for his chambers. Her blue eyes flared with anger and her raven curls bounced haughtily.  
  
"Father!" she shouted as she entered the King's room. "I have to speak with you about this decree, I have heard that you have chosen to throw a ball in my honor. Is that correct?"  
  
"Yes, my dearest, I de-"the stout king began.  
  
"How DARE you!" she shrieked, "How could you do such a thing?"  
  
"I'm sorry, I decided to throw a celebration for my only daughter, and as king I know I should always ask the permission of my daughter before doing such a horrible crime," the gray-haired man calmly stated.  
  
"Father, you know I don't mean that, I mean the fact that I am supposed to meet suitors and choose one to marry that very day. How is it that your only daughter is supposed to marry some prince that will make her miserable the rest of her life?"  
  
"It is not my wish that you are to marry just any prince that comes along, I wish for you to find the right one, the one that brings you love. It can happen, for it has happened to me. But I am afraid that if your present attitude toward love and men continue, you shall never find what is the most wonderful thing in the world, true love," the king said tenderly.  
  
"Yes, yes, father, I know that is your intentions. I'm sorry, but Father, can you really expect someone to want to love for other reasons than my position? I don't think princes are made for true love, and I would be very content to stay rich and alone. I don't need anyone, leave me my jewels and we shall be very happy together," the stubborn beauty protested.  
  
"Jewels or no jewels, the ball will be a fortnight hence, and you will choose a suitor. That is a royal order of King Arthur!" he spoke sternly and turned away. The princess turned on her heel and stomped out of his chambers slamming the door behind her.  
  
"True Love! What does he know of true love? I don't need to be weak and stupid, I need to have power and that is all!" the princess turned toward her chambers and made plans.  
  
"Princess Marguerite," the young maid began, "I have laid out your gown for the ball tonight. Should I draw your bath now?"  
  
"Very well, Veronica," the princess sighed, "if I must I must. But I do not have to choose someone. If I can find the flaws in them all tonight, I might never have to marry them. They can't very well expect the Princess to marry someone with flaws!"  
  
"It doesn't sound like a very secure plan to me, Milady," Veronica said.  
  
"Well, secure or not, it is all I have. I'm afraid that I must be wed, whether I like it or not, but I do not have to go through with a wedding."  
  
"What do you mean, Princess?" Veronica was puzzled.  
  
"I mean that if I am forced to wed, I will surely die before the ceremonies take place," she calmly said staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror.  
  
"Princess Marguerite! You cannot be serious!" Veronica gasped.  
  
"Oh, but I am. I will not be forced to do something I have no say about."  
  
"Prince Hernandez of the Spanish territories," the grand announcement was made as the Prince made his way to Princess Marguerite's throne.  
  
"Him?! Him?!?" Marguerite stammered to find a fault. "Why, he is just too tall and thin. There must be a famine in his country to be that skinny." Before the man could say anything to her, he was pulled off.  
  
"My dear," the king whispered, "you have done that to the last five suitors. Will you please stop making a mockery of my kingdom and at least let the men speak!"  
  
"Yes, of course father." She settled back into her throne and watched as the line of suitors moved closer. The next man was a stout bald man, covered in jewels. Marguerite, so disgusted, was not even aware of what his name and province was.  
  
"Hello, my fair Princess. I wish to br-"the man began.  
  
"He is much to FAT!" the princess waved him off. As the man turned away infuriated, the king shot the princess a look of shock. "What? I let him begin speaking!  
  
The king huffed and turned away. "You test my patience, Marguerite."  
  
After several more rejections, justified or not, the king and every courtier was becoming annoyed with the Princess' pickiness. The suitors, one after another, were sent away furious and resentful of the King. For peace's sake, Marguerite would need to be more tactful in her rejections.  
  
But tactfulness could not even help for the last and final suitor. As the young prince approached, Princess Marguerite had to catch her breath. She stared at his eyes, the pale green spirals that never left her gaze. As he came to kneel, she looked upon his entire face. At this she began to laugh aloud. As she gained a sense of composure, she asked, "I'm sorry, your highness, your name?"  
  
"Prince John Roxton of Avebury, my Lady," he bowed low at this. The Princess swallowed laughter for the second time, for his beard, his wild beard was more than she could take.  
  
"Well, Prince Rox-"she giggled. Her father looked at his daughter in surprise.  
  
"My dear, what is it?" he asked.  
  
"Nothing, Nothi-"she laughed again, "But that beard and that long hair! You are so unkempt! It looks like a thrush's beard,"she bent over in laughter. The court stared in shock as the Princess gained her composure once again. "Now Prince Roxton what is it that you were going to say?" she smirked. He did not turn away as she suspected, but slowly met her eyes.  
  
"My Lady Marguerite," he began slowly with a smile, "You complain much more than any lady of nobility should. I thought Princesses were supposed to be kind and grateful. I don't think I wish to be married to a woman of such insulting behavior."  
  
At this the Princess stood and slapped the prince. He looked back to face her, still smiling. Anger rose in her cheeks and she began to laugh.  
  
"I only speak the truth, I'm sorry if my honesty offends you. But you have too many faults for my liking, and I wish you would leave." Princess Marguerite smiled, settling back into her throne.  
  
"You make the truth what you want it to be because you are afraid of it yourself. No one is perfect, and you know that. You know wh-"  
  
"THAT is enough out of you! How dare you, you ....thrush-bearded buffoon!" Marguerite snapped in his face.  
  
The prince continued smiling, "What sort of insult is that?" The princess pushed past him and ran out of the hall.  
  
"That is the FINAL straw, Marguerite! Do you know that now NO nobleman will marry you?" the King began to shout. Marguerite looked at the bottom of her dress. She bit her lip. _Oh, Marguerite, you've done it this time. This is just the beginning_ "They will hear that you are a shrew, which you proved tonight! If you will not act like a Princess, you will not be a Princess!" the King roared. Marguerite flew form her seat. "You will marry, and you will marry who I say when I say! In fact, you shall marry the next peasant that comes to the castle, "the king roared.  
  
"No! No, you can't!"  
  
"I can and I will. After that, you are no longer royalty and no longer my daughter!" the king stalked out of the room.  
  
Marguerite sat in her dimly lit room, and the tears came. "I will not let him do this to me, I will die first." She lay across her bed and sobbed. Between her sobs, the music of a lute floated quietly into her terrace window. She slowly rose and walked toward the sound. In the moonlight, the lake shone and the trees swayed. She looked down to see the source of the beautiful music. A figure could be seen in the shadows, but it was completely undistinguishable. She paused to listen for a few moments, letting her tears slow. Then the thought entered her mind, the terrace, if she jumped...... No, she couldn't, not with someone down there. "I'll wait until morning. Maybe father will have changed his mind by then."  
  
The harsh morning light woke her to the noise outside. She raced to the window and looked down. "NO! "she screamed as she saw a line of peasants coming toward the castle. Veronica came in at the sound.  
  
"Is everything all right?" she asked.  
  
"No, there are peasants coming toward the castle. Have them stopped before my father sees them!" she shrieked.  
  
"Yes, milady." Veronica bolted out of the room. Minutes later the door opened again. Marguerite stood and smiled," Did you stop th-? Oh! Father, what are you doing here?"  
  
"I have come to speak to you about your marriage."  
  
"But father, you cannot expect me to marry one of those peasants!" she pointed out the window to the mob outside the palace.  
  
"No, of course not," he smiled.  
  
"Oh, thank the gods," she sighed.  
  
"I expect you to marry this peasant."  
  
"What?"  
  
"This peasant." The king stepped aside revealing a rather attractive, though raggedly clothed, young man complete with a lute.  
  
"A poor musician? You cannot be serious!"  
  
"Oh but I am Marguerite. Amazingly enough, this poor man has accepted to marry you. Now take only the bare necessities. I am assuming that this man does not have any room for ALL of your precious possessions. And, besides that, you are no longer the Princess so please leave the Royal Jewels and Seals here." He turned to the peasant." You may take her clothes and sell them and whatever you think will make some profit for you as a dowry." Happily, the man's eyes lit up and rushed to the wardrobe to pick what would be valuable.  
  
Marguerite, on the other hand, had begun to cry. Softly, at first, but her sobs were slowly turning to wails. She looked to Veronica and shared a glance before she moved towards the window. Veronica's eyes widened as she began to connect the pieces.  
  
As Marguerite neared the edge Veronica cried, "NO! Milady, No!" The King stood puzzled as Marguerite began to lean farther and farther over the railing. The peasant turned at the commotion and gasped. Realizing her intent, he rushed to her side and grabbed the hem of her dress and wrist at the last second.  
  
"NO! LET ME GO! I don't want to be your wife! You can't make me! PLEASE! Let ME GO!!" she screamed as she kicked her feet in the air.  
  
"Never," the man gently replied as he pulled her up from the side. After Marguerite was safely away from the balcony, the man turned to her. "Well, now that that little theatric is over, I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is James Buxton. I am a poor musician, that is true, but I can promise that you will not starve, as long as you can manage to make your pretty little hands do work. Now, if you would hurry, I would like to get the ceremony taken care of and get home before all of a day's pay is lost."  
  
Marguerite staggered at the man's rudeness. "If you Sir, think you are going anywhere and making me do anything, you are sadly mistaken! I know what my father has promised you, but you will not get one cent out of me or my possessions. Even though I may be forced to go with you, I will not love you, and I shall not be forced to stay with you. You will soon find out that I value no one's happiness more than my own, and whether the laws of the church call us wed I do not nor never will think of us in such a way."  
  
"Just as well," James replied, "Well if you are quite ready I would like to be off" With that, the King and James turned toward the door and left. Marguerite stared at the heavy doors and clenched her fist.  
  
"How DARE he!" she screamed. Veronica rushed to gather things for Marguerite. Marguerite sighed in exasperation and defeat, and went to help Veronica.

Please Review! I really wnat to continue this story, but I wont if no one is reading or enjoying it.


	2. New Home

Chapter 2................................................................................................  
  
The trek through the forest had begun immediately after lunch was served. Marguerite would not of course let her shame and humiliation get the best of her. She proudly stuck her nose in the air as she grabbed her one small bag and stalked out of the castle doors, shocked at the immediate slam. She stopped and turned toward the castle, looking up at the grand towers that she explored as a child. And as the tears began to come at the thought that she would never see them again, James yelled at her to hurry up. Angrily, Marguerite turned to face him.  
  
"Well, what is this? I hope being married to me brings this much sadness." He walked back to her. "I suppose I can be some sort of gentleman." He took her bag from her and offered her his arm. Marguerite just stared through her tears and quickly turned straight ahead. James's smile faded and he began walking "Well, fine, if that is the way you want it," he dropped the bag, "you can carry it on your own. Now, please follow me and try to keep up, Prin-... Oh that's right, Marguerite." She gritted her teeth and then the tears fell, silently. She followed him through the woods for an hour struggling with the bag and stepping in every hole and tripping over every root possible.  
  
_ "Well, this bag is getting much too heavy. I can't just ask him to take it after that_", she thought. "Well, Mr. Buxton, where exactly do you live?" she forced herself to ask as coldly as possible.  
  
"About two hours more into the woods. I live at the base of a lake and small circle of trees. It is just outside of your father's land and the owner doesn't mind if I am eating the game on his land."  
  
"He sounds very kind," she remarked, "Does he have a name?"  
  
"You wouldn't know him. He is a wealthy Prince that doesn't stay in England very often. He likes to travel the continents. His name is Prince John Roxton."  
  
"Roxton?" she said, "The name sounds dreadfully familiar, but I can't rem-.... Oh."  
  
"What?" he turned.  
  
"He was one of the suitors who came for my hand last night."  
  
"Last night? You mean I am married to the woman Prince Roxton rejected?"  
  
"I rejected him." She said staring at the ground.  
  
"Whatever for?" he laughed.  
  
"Now I'm not so sure," she said as she tripped over another root, dropping the bag.  
  
"Well, your loss I suppose. At least I have a new hand to help me with my work. It is a pitty though. You could have owned all of these woods, the meadow, and the river that runs through his town of Avebury." He said as he reached for the bag. He looked back up at Marguerite. Seeing her tears, he remarked, "Now why in the world are you crying? Because you have to leave your glorious lifestyle with servants? Because you were foolish enough to reject every suitor in the land? Well, you can't do anything about that now. Now, let's get home. It's been a long day and I'm famished."  
  
This made Marguerite cry all the more. She followed him for an hour more before her tears stopped. James turned to her. "We are almost there," he said.  
  
"Well, if you don't mind, I would really like a rest."  
  
"Oh all right, but not for long." He sat on a log, leaving plenty of room for Marguerite to join him. Marguerite in turn walked as far as she possibly could away from the spot and huffed down on a stump.  
**..........................................................................................................................................**......  
After another hour of walking they finally arrived at the tiny hovel. The thatched roof was falling in and the house, or hut rather, was in need of all sorts of repairs.  
  
"Well, this is it," he hunched over to go in the door.  
  
"There are only two rooms!" she exclaimed "If this is the kitchen and that is your workroom, where am I to sleep?"  
  
"Well, I have a cot and a few spare blankets. They will do."

"A COT! You expect me to sleep on a cot?" she cried.  
  
"No, of course not, I expect you to sleep on the floor, the cot is mine," he smiled. The smirk of triumph was enough to set her off again.  
  
"NO! I am NOT. I have wandered around in the woods for over three hours, I have left everything I have ever loved behind, I haven't eaten since noon, and on top of that I am beaten and bruised from every bloody rock and stump along the path. And if that isn't enough, I am married to the most insufferable peasant in the whole damn country and I am NOT, I repeat, NOT going to sleep on the bloody floor!"  
  
"My, my, what a temper. Well, if you insist on not sleeping on the floor you may sleep outside." He laughed.  
  
"What?!"  
  
"I'm just joking, my dear wife, you can always share the cot with me, of course, we will be cramped, but-"  
  
"Oh, no, I much prefer the floor."  
  
"Well, I'm glad that's sorted out. Now what can you make for supper?"  
  
"Supper?"  
  
"Yes, supper, you do cook don't you?" he asked.  
  
"No, I never had to learn," she said.  
  
"Whatever do they teach you at your Princess schools? How to walk and speak, but not to cook?"  
  
"I never had to go to one of those schools," she said proudly.  
  
"Well you should have, look at the way you've been stumbling around so ungracefully like a new born calf, and as for your tounge..tsk, tsk, tsk...." he laughed merrily. At this he turned just in time to meet the wrath of Marguerite's fist. Shocked, he raised his hand to hit her back and she flinched. He caught himself, and stopped, smiling down on her. She looked up into his face, at his amused grin.  
  
"What?" she asked defensively.  
  
"You're quite attractive when you're angry," he smiled as he grabbed her wrist as she swung at him again. "Your father was right, you are a little shrew" He pushed her down onto the cot and turned to go outside.  
  
"Where are you going?" she asked bitterly.  
  
"To get some firewood for you to cook over."  
  
"I told you I can't –"  
  
"You'll learn" he replied slamming the door behind him. Marguerite let  
out an angry shriek as she picked up a bowl lying beside the bed and  
throwing it against the shut door.


	3. Pride and Prejudice

Chapter 3. Just review .... PLEASE!  
  
"Well are you going to learn or not?" James turned from the fire he had lit. "The pot is hanging over there. Bring it here." Marguerite ignored him and remained sitting on the cot staring at the wall. "Now, now, Marguerite, I don't want you to starve to death."  
  
"You have a funny way of showing your concern." She mumbled out.  
  
"Well, it's up to you, I don't need you to cook for me to eat, but if you want to, you'd better come over here." He paused waiting for her to move. "Fine then." James continued to cook the stew over the fire, as Marguerite continued to stare at the wall. The smell of the stew began to drift through the small hut, and Marguerite's stomach emitted a few small sounds that she quickly tried to conceal. She heard James laugh and her anger and stubbornness grew. With a new resolve she forced herself to stay seated on the cot. James walked behind her with a bowl full of the small, yet delicious smelling meal. He sat next to her. They sat in silence until Marguerite finally stood and turned toward the door.  
  
"Where are you going?" he asked with an amused grin.  
  
"Well, a person has to relieve themselves sometime, and assuming you haven't the luxury of an inside washroom, I'm going to go find a nice quite spot." She said with hatred and malice apparent with every word.  
  
"There is a small shed in the back that you-"he began before the door slammed. James turned back to his meal and laughed.  
  
Marguerite made her way back to the house mumbling and complaining the entire way. How in the world was she supposed to live the rest of her life with this miserable peasant? She returned to find him lying on the cot with a blanket strewn across the floor, apparently intended for her. Without a sound she sat next to the fire.  
"Are you going to sleep?" he asked. No reply. "Well, just don't try anything silly, like running away at night in the woods. You'll be killed, which I'm sure looks like a pleasing alternative at the moment. But remember, Marguerite, you brought this on yourself. And it is up to you how miserable you're going to be."   
  
Marguerite spent the night cursing the man, and her father, and herself. She cried until she was too exhausted and hungry to care. She fell asleep in the dirt next to the fire. When she awoke the next morning, James was in the workroom, he was quietly moving around the hut. She sat up and looked around. There was a pile of sticks and rods lying on the floor next to her.  
  
"That's is a poor excuse for firewood," she remarked.  
  
"Good Morning, Marguerite, Would you like to start breakfast?" he said happily as he came into the room wiping his hands on an old rag.  
  
"I am hungry, but I can't cook, and you know it."  
  
"Oh that's right, well, since you refused your lesson last night, figure it out on your own. I've got work to get done."  
  
She glared at him and began to pick up the stick and put them in the fireplace.  
  
"No, no, no," he chided, "That isn't firewood. That is you new job."  
  
"What?" she asked.  
  
"I'll tell you after breakfast," he smiled turning back to the workroom.  
  
Marguerite searched the hutch for a decent pot and some semblance of breakfast. She looked for eggs, but son realized she was much too poor to have such extravagances. She only found a few dry oats and basket of wheat. She searched the kitchen, but in desperation, she went to the stream not far from the hut to bring back water. Dumping it into the pot already hanging over the small fire she had managed to get started, she waited endlessly for the water to boil. She had no idea where her efforts were going to leave her, but she had decided to boil the oats and gather fruit outside, if she could find any. When the water finally boiled, she dumped in the small remainder of oats from the bowl. She waited and gathered up a small bowl and spoon and tried to put out the fire. She reached to far into the fireplace and caught the edge of her dirty gown in the flames. She shrieked and tried to beat it out, but it was beginning to get worse. James rushed in at the commotion and dropped down quickly beside her. He had a rag in his hand and began to successfully beat out the flames. Marguerite cried out and after she realized the fire was out, began to feel the pain in her arm. Tears of pain filled her eyes.  
"Are you badly burned?" he asked as he rolled up her sleeve to see the damage. "Well, you've burned it nicely. It should heal up soon with a little scar." He looked at Marguerite to see her anger at knowing her precious perfect skin would be mangled. But instead she stared at him with tears threatening to spill over onto her dirt-covered face. "Oh, Marguerite" he sighed as he stood to go find bandages. Marguerite began to cry silently. "Marguerite, the scars won't be that bad. And it shouldn't hurt too much after I put some salve on it. Besides, who is going to care about a silly scar on your arm anyway? You don't have anyone to impress."  
  
"It's not that." She whispered. He didn't hear her, and when he returned Marguerite shrugged away from him.  
  
"Marguerite, do you want the bandages or not, just for one damn minute can't you stop being so-...Marguerite? Marguerite, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I know it's been hard for you bu-"He stopped as a sobbing Marguerite leaned slowly into his arms and rested her head on his chest. He but down the bandages and wrapped his arms around her. He knew she must have been exhausted, not to mention starving. Marguerite's tears stopped and she looked up at his face for the first time. He wasn't an ordinary man by any means. His face was perfectly shaped, with a strong defining jaw line and the most brilliant green eyes. His mouth curled into a smile as he realized she was staring at him.  
  
"Well, I think you cooked something, can we see how it turned out?" he pulled away and reached into the pot to taste whatever Marguerite had attempted to cook. He scowled at the taste and tried with all his might no to spit it out. "Marguerite, it's well..."  
  
"Horrid," she said flatly.  
  
"Yes," he sighed. "I suppose I will have to teach you." He helped Marguerite off the ground and helped her prepare a porridge that was actually appetizing, even though anything would do when Marguerite was as hungry as she was now. After breakfast, Marguerite turned back to the pile of sticks on the floor.  
  
"What are those for?" she asked.  
  
"That is what you will be doing to earn your fair share of the money." He said. "I'm assuming that you have no clue how to make a basket." She glared at him. "Ah, well, no bother, I'll teach you."  
  
"You'll do no such thing!" she said jumping up from the floor. "I can't do that, it.. Well it's.."  
  
"Honest work," he said. "Yes, Marguerite, you'll have to work, just like all the other commoners." He sounded disgusted with her and she for a moment felt ashamed.  
"All right, I'll try," she sighed. He picked up a few of the sticks and in an hour Marguerite was beginning to make her first crude basket. He left her mumbling and complaining and went to the workroom, and when he returned, Marguerite had finished two baskets, and they looked remarkably good, considering that she had just started that morning. But he looked at her pained expression and looked at her hands and saw how much they bled. She had torn up portions of her hands beyond repair, but still she kept working as hard as she could. He snuck up behind her and watched her work for a few minutes. Finally, he bent over her shoulder and took the basket she was weaving away from her. Startled, she turned to face him and he put the basket down beside him and knelt to look at her hands. She stared at him in surprise, he wiped her small hands on his shirttail. She hissed in pain at the stinging of her torn hands. He looked up at her and kissed them. Marguerite pulled her hands back and he smiled.  
  
"Tomorrow we will find you another job," he said as he  
stood up, pulling her up form her chair.  
  
"What else is there to do?" she asked, still startled by his sudden show of affection.  
  
"Sewing," he replied simply. "But it is really time for supper. So as soon as I bandage up your hands, I can start..."  
  
"You can start? I thought I was doing the cooking around here," she asked.  
  
"Yes, after tonight you will, but I'm so hungry I want to have something edible." He laughed.  
  
"Oh you little...!" she exclaimed as she threw a dirty towel toward his laughing figure.  
  
After dinner, James collapsed on the cot and turned on his side- facing Marguerite on the floor.  
  
"You know this cot is much more comfortable," he smiled at her suggestively, reaching out a hand to her.  
  
"Not with you in it," she laid down on her blankets on the floor.  
  
"Well, as you wish, Princess," he smiled and closed his eyes.  
  
Marguerite huffed a frustrated sigh. She closed her eyes, but was flooded with memories. Could it only be two days since she left her home and father? She began to cry again for the millionth time that day. She wanted to cry because of the life she would never have, yet dreamed of. She wanted to cry for the frustrations of the day. She wanted to cry because of her lack of talent in anything more than being a Princess. She wanted to cry because she would never have love.... Well, maybe, could she? She opened her eyes and stared at James again. He was handsome, as she had earlier discovered. He was not so kind, well he had his moments. But he was horribly poor. He was not stupid, but he didn't seem to a very emotional person. He ran his house, but he had no feeling toward anything that he had displayed.... until tonight. He had kissed her hands, and in that moment, Marguerite began to feel frightened. He showed concern, but had it really happened? He seemed to not care about her the rest of the night. But there was a look in his eyes. And then, before he slept, that mocking smile that seemed to linger even still. She was falling in love with him. But she couldn't. This was the man that had taken her away. This was the man who had struck her, who had forced her to live in this miserable filth. But why in the world could she love him? It was desperation, she figured. The exhaustion and hunger. That was all. She began to close her eyes, when she took a deep breath. He had this smell... this wonderful cinnamon smell... no not cinnamon.... what was it?.... flowers.... No... but he had this smell...... 


	4. All the Drama

A/N: Ok I'm back. Don't shoot! I'm soooo sorry that I haven't written sooner, but I have a REAL reason to be gone. I found out that I had a scheduling conflict with my Spanish classes. I had to take an entire class (9months) in 1 month. Yes, you heard right, I had to teach myself a 9 month course in 1 month. So you see my dilemma. "What about the other months that you abandoned us, traitor?" I hear you cry...... Well see, I had surgery, school started, my new job started and I found out that I was taking classes that I really wasn't ready for (a.k.a. studying my butt off!!). I'm also very involved with theatre and music up to my neck right now. So I apologize from the bottom of my heart, and I apologize to all other authors that I have been angry with for not delivering stories quickly enough for my liking. I was a fool, living in a fool's paradise called summer. So again forgive me. I beg you to continue on, and let me claim my redemption.

Chapter 4.... Finally.....

Early the next morning Marguerite awoke before the sun rose. She got off the cold floor and stumbled for the door. She grabbed the small, worn, pathetic excuse for a blanket for more warmth. She walked in the darkness, not too far, for fear of creatures stronger than her. But circled her way around the hut. She looked out at the brilliant landscape, as far as she could see in the dimly lit forest. The sun started to make its way above the horizon, and the sight brought her back to her old home. Resolved not to cry again, she tried to push the memories of her view from her terrace window out of her mind. As the sun made its accent she ventured farther and farther away from the hovel with each new ray of light. She discovered the forest and the beautiful songs of the birds, the sound of the stream babbling constantly and unchangingly. She saw the insects, as frightening as they could be, fly and flit and hop and slither around her, and for a short moment, the sense of her place on the earth struck her. She couldn't quite comprehend the feeling of littleness, for she had never felt it before. But to see the magnificent grandeur, the wide expanse of nothing but nature in its course, of the world in Supreme order and purpose, she began to feel rather small and silly in it all.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a loud crash from the cottage. She turned just in time to see James emerge from the hut frantically looking around him. Marguerite hid behind the trees and watched him search for her in a panicked frenzy. She giggled to herself at her little joke and waited till he had run far enough away from the hut that she could circle back to the house unseen. She made it stealthily to the door and when she got inside laughed to tears. She lay down on his cot, for once getting some small amount of comfort, and thought about what she would do next. She heard him crying out her name, and felt slightly ashamed at putting him through so much anxiety, but she loved the revenge. She sighed and again she caught that smell, not quite spice, not quite lavender, almost rose..... and then it was gone, and was replaced by the smell of her own self. She hadn't bathed in days, but the idea of where the bath would have to be taken and who would have to be around dimmed her desire to be clean. _'I can endure for another day I suppose'_ Marguerite thought as she heard another cry of her name, but this time, it didn't sound angry, or just slightly worried, it sounded devastated and distraught. She immediately jumped off her cot and started to go out to reveal herself, but stopped.

'_Am I completely daft. That man will murder me if he finds that I have been making a fool of him. Last night he was kind, but that is not his usual character. Marguerite you push too far sometimes.' _She thought. She carefully stuck her head out the door and spotted him many yards away, searching near the stream. She quickly darted in the other direction quietly, and ran into the undergrowth. She found her way a few yards farther off to a clearing and spotted a steep drop into a small ditch. She climbed into the ditch and covered herself in the dirt. She tousled her hair to look a little more unkempt that it already was, and lay there until she heard the cries coming closer.

'_Well, maybe if he thinks I hurt myself it will be better than just running off into the woods and hiding. But a bath will definitely be in order after this' _she thought. She heard him cry out once more, this time like a man who had given up most hope and whose voice was strained through held back tears. She was almost touched, as much as this man pushed her, he apparently thought she was worth searching for. _'Or maybe,' _she thought, _' he just couldn't lose me because I am the princess, or was the princess. I bet he thinks it will surely mean death to him if he lets anything happen to me. My father was angry but surely he would be infuriated to hear of any harm coming to me because of a careless peasant.' _The thoughts made her angrier towards him, but she wanted out of the ditch and out of trouble with the peasant, so she continued to pretend to be hurt and faintly cried out to him.

"Marguerite!" he shouted, as though he never believed to hear the sound. "Marguerite, are you there?" he screamed waiting for a reply. A soft whimper came for his answer. He ran towards the sound and looked down into the small ditch below. "Marguerite!! How on earth? No, never mind, just stay still, I'll get you." He crawled carefully into mud and picked her up slowly. Marguerite, doing a splendid job of pretending to be half conscious, found the security of his arms rather surprising. She leaned into him and let him cradle her as he carried her out of the ditch, only for realism, of course.

Back inside the cottage, James heated water for the rags and tried to sponge the dirt off her face and bandaged hands. Marguerite, feeling slightly guilty for her deception, lay on the cot and tried to keep from jumping up and screaming at the man for being so selfish for himself than for her welfare. But she stayed in character and emitted small moans when necessary.

"What happened?" he asked softly as he wet more rags. The question startled her. She hadn't yet thought of an excuse.

"Well," she said weakly, "I was going out to collect firewood and I just got turned around. The next thing I knew I had fallen into that ditch and I don't remember anything until you got there."

"You must have bumped you head, knocked yourself unconscious. You should be all right, you just need to rest. You see, I told you that you should have gone to those princess schools you clumsy little twit." He laughed. Marguerite was angered but tried not to let it show, and there was not scorn in his voice.

"I should have known better, " she whispered. "I was just trying to be helpful. And I was just looking at these beautiful woods. It is a shame I sent that prince away. I could own these woods now, instead of live in them"

She paused and looked over at him as his expression changed from a laugh to a scowl.

"Well, maybe you would have been better off there anyway, all the trouble you are to me. You can't even collect firewood correctly." He mocked.

"I was just trying to help, you pompous cuss. You didn't have to come find me. You could have just left me out there to die. No one asked you to save me, unless you are too worried about what my father might do if you were to let something happen to me." She started to rise off the cot and then remembered her "condition".

"Oh-ho! That is what you think? You think that your father even cares what happens to you? Look around Marguerite. If he cared he would be out here trying to bring you back. He knows where you are; he could have sent messengers to check on your condition. No, he doesn't care. When the papers were signed for us to be married, I had full control over your outcome. I could have killed you or sold you. No one is coming after me just because you fall in a ditch and bump your precious head!" he screamed.

"Fine! Then why don't you just sell me? You said yourself that I am no use to you. You could get a pretty price for the former princess! The stupid arrogant princess who was _forced _to marry you. What a prize, you get the girl that the prince refused, that was kicked out of the palace. The one that was stupid enough to be reduced to filth like you!"

"All right filth, that is what I am to you. I don't care Marguerite, but must you keep lamenting over that lost prince of yours. And I thought you rejected him" James shot back.

"I did reject him, but he..." she stammered. The memories of the man's face flooded back. She remembered it clearly. That man's indignant smirk, his cocky bow, his annoyingly rude remarks, and his captivating green eyes. "He was an arrogant man, and I despise the fact that I am having to live on his provisions now, for I never found him to be a kind man. He was rude and evil." She said staring at the wall away from him.

"So, he did reject you. Ha! Now that _is _grand! For now you say that this, as you would have it, rude and evil man found you even more offensive than himself, now that _is _saying a lot, "he laughed. "Well you had better rest. It is only noon and I am going to bathe in the stream. You may join me if you like, if that isn't too far beneath you. And sooner or later the smell is going to offend your pretty little nose, unless that you is your plan, to murder me by your offensive odor. And if that is your plan, I find it quite cunning, though not quite so affective," he laughed again as he shut the door behind him.

Marguerite huffed, and got off the cot. She stumbled into the workroom strolling aimlessly through her thoughts. She was hurt by James's comments, but tried to remind herself what kind of a man he was. He was an offensive, crude, cold-hearted man, who only cared for his own interest, but if that were entirely true, he wouldn't have looked for her. He said himself that no one was keeping track of her well being. He had nothing to lose. The man confused her. He was so- but her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a small wooden figure. She picked up the little statue. _'So this is what he does all day,' _she thought. _'Well what do we have here?'_

The small figure was a small heart surrounded by vines and leaves, and two small birds carved onto the face of the heart. The carving was by no means ordinary. It had so much detail in such a little space. Marguerite stared at the birds. They were facing each other; they were small birds, the size of a robin, but with spotted undersides. They looked like tiny swallows in a huge tangle of leaves and vines. She smiled at the little statue and turned it over in her hand. She saw an inscription on the back. "To the one who I truly love. There will never be another"

Marguerite was surprised, this inscription couldn't be for her, James may have some feelings toward her, but they were definitely not that strong. This must have been written to another woman. Maybe it was made for someone else and James was hired to make it. Or maybe it was a family heirloom. _'Or maybe,' _she thought '_It was to another woman,' _she started to feel twinges of jealousy, and quickly let it fade to anger. No matter. He could do whatever he wanted. She looked around the workshop. There were tools of a carpenter, and various instruments. And over in the far corner was a spinning wheel. '_Now that,' _she thought, _' I may be able to do.' _

P.S. What will happen next?... To be entirely honest I dont know myself, I feel like Im reading this instead of writing it. Starting out this chapter wasnt anything close to what it turned out to be, I dont know where it came from, so just please review and forgive spelling errors You can spell check all you want, but you can only catch so much you know.... darn computers... Love ya!


	5. The Plot Almost Thickens

A/N: I'm updating when I can, I'm sorry, I hope I can update sooner, but I can't promise. The story is writing itself when I can sit down and just spill. I'm sorry for errors but I do reread and check, but I, and my computer, are not perfect. Merry Christmas, and enjoy this little chapter of this whole bit of nonsense.

She waited and waited for him to come home. She had been working for over three hours, and even though it had almost killed her, she had done it. And that man was not going to have the last laugh… not this time. She had only had a few hours, but she knew she could do it. There was enough fibers and even though they cut her hands, she quickly got the hang of it. She spun at least two basketfuls of thread. She quickly covered the baskets with old cloths when she heard him approach the hut. She rushed to lie back down on the cot and pretended to be asleep.

_'My hands!'_ she thought. _' He'll notice the new cuts on my hands!' _she shoved one hand under her head and wrapped the other in the blanket and bit her cheeks in pain as he walked in the door. She peeked through the bottom of her eyelids to watch him. He had a cloth thrown over his bare back, and Marguerite tried to hide a smile as she watched him walk around the room. He was not anything to scoff at. The man must have lived a rough life. He not only had the muscles that accompany a hard life of labor, but he also had the scars to prove his struggles as well. As Marguerite was wondering to herself what kind of life this man must had led, she realized that James was staring at her. She tried to steady her breathing again, and she tried not to show any expression. James walked toward her, and she felt like she was either going to burst out in laughter from the deceit, or she would scream in fear for what he might do to her. He was not happy with her when he left and who knew how he felt now.

He leaned over and looked at her inches from her face. Marguerite again steadied her breathing as she caught that strange smell again…. Almost cinnamon, no … roses.. maybe thyme. He reached up and brushed the hair out of her face which had been tickling her tremendously. His hands were rough, with calluses on the tips. He had played his lute the night before they were married, but his shop was filled with carpentry tools, and a spinning wheel, and the man knew how to cook and make baskets for heaven's sake, so who knew what he could be doing all day, all Marguerite knew was that his hands were deliciously rough and at the same time tremendously gentle. It was all Marguerite could do to control herself and she almost decided to 'wake up' when….

"Marguerite," James whispered, "Marguerite, wake up, your hands are bleeding all over the blanket. Your basket wounds must be splitting open again." Marguerite slowly sat up and stared back at him. "Well, do you want me to bandage them or not?" He asked staring back. He reached for her hands and she pulled back.

"No, " she whispered. " I think I'll keep these scars." She smiled. He smiled back slowly.

"Why the sudden change?" he asked

"I think that I shall like to remember the time I almost did real work," she teased.

"Fine, have it your way," he grinned. "But don't nag me for all eternity and for the sake of all that is tormenting about how your precious perfect hands are mangled and twisted when we are old and gray." She was silent for a moment, and he looked up to face her. They both stared for a moment and each knew what the other was thinking.

'_Old and gray? I never thought about the reality of living here that long…. With him…' _Marguerite pondered this over and over before a knock on the door pulled them both from their thoughts. James answered the door to an elderly woman who was carrying heavy pots. James took the pottery from her and invited her in. Marguerite pulled a small chair from the corner and let her sit down. The woman looked tired and as if she were about to collapse at any moment. She took a few deep breaths before she began to explain herself.

"My name is Mary Acton. My daughter sells the pottery that I make in the market everyday. It is a long travel and too hard for a woman of my age to make. I know that you do not know me, but I am asking for your help as a fellow Englishman and as a neighbor of the forest."

"We would be happy to assist in any way we can, but I do not quite understand your problem." James repled.

"My daughter is a pretty girl of the age of twenty and seven. She is widowed herself, but is constantly persisted by a few 'suitors' who are not of the most respectable and gentlemanly lifestyles. She has been recently attacked by one while out to sell. She cannot go out there in her condition for at least a week, and the only source of money for us is in what we sell everyday at the market. We need someone to take our pottery into town and sell it for us. We would offer you part of the money we make everyday, and you may keep a piece that you choose for yourselves to keep, just please do not let us starve."

"It seems a terrible injustice has occurred, and I will do everything I can to remedy it. I myself must work to keep our living, but my wife would be happy to sell your pottery for you." Marguerite glared back at him. _'My wife? He makes it sound as if we are a perfectly normal couple. And since when do I go into a dangerous city to sell someone else's pottery? And why is he so willing to send me into a dangerous city?'_

"Oh Thank you!" the woman cried as she turned to Marguerite. "Thank you, my dear. You have no idea of what your charity means to me!" Marguerite just took the woman's hand as she began to cry and James put an arm around the lady's shoulder.

"Now Mistress Acton, Marguerite will pick up the pottery tomorrow morning and bring it to market. She is quite honest and trustworthy, I assure you. Now how may we find your house?"

* * *

Marguerite lay on the floor as a chill ran through her body and she let out an audible shiver. "Why do you want me to sell her pottery in such a dangerous town?" she asked him in the darkness.

"Because I would hope that if something ever happened to my mother, someone would have enough mercy and compassion to help her." James said simply, not stirring in his cot.

"You have never told me of your mother, or your childhood for that matter." She questioned.

"You never asked, nor did I think it necessary for you to know." He sounded as if he wanted the conversation to end at that.

"Well, I'm asking now, who was your mother?" she shivered again.

"Maybe you should get up here. You're probably freezing. It's going to be a cold night." James avoided the question again.

"Oh, no you don't, I'm not letting a little chill stop me from keeping my resolutions to sleep separately from you." She laughed.

"Well, then I don't need to answer your question." He countered.

"So if I crawl up there with you, will you answer me?" she asked.

"I don't know, let's see." He smiled. Marguerite crawled onto the tiny cot and tried to keep as much space as possible between them, but it was practically useless.

"So, Master Buxton, who was your mother and where did you come from?" Marguerite asked.

"All these questions from someone who hates me is making me rather confused as to how I'm supposed to treat you. But I shall tell you of my childhood. My father was a carpenter, my mother sewed for the small village I grew up in. unfortunately my father was not a very kind man and treated my mother horribly. Someone eventually killed my father. No one knew who had done it, but no one really cared. It was a matter of time. He had many enemies, and not a single soul cried at his funeral, save me. I felt that I could have saved him somehow. At the time, I could not realize how evil a man he truly was, but it was not before long when my mother married again. He was a wonderful man who fell in love with my mother on one of his travels. She lives with him still and is quite happy. He took me in and became a second father to me. But they live quite a ways from here, and I do not see them as much as I would like." He trailed off.

"So, you never found out what happened to your father?" she asked.

"No, he most likely made a customer mad one too many times and it got him into trouble. Like I said, he was in no way a kind man."

"I'm sorry,"Marguerite said through silent tears. "I wish you had not had such a troubled childhood." She realized then how she missed her father and wanted desperately to just be home with him.

"It was not as bad as all that. Are you still freezing?" He asked when he heard her sniffle.

"Uh, yes, I guess I am ." she tried to hide her crying as she brushed away more tears. He reached out and put an arm around her.

"Well, I must say that I am happy you finally did bathe. I must say that what I said about that plan to murder me by stench was working better than I would admit. Marguerite, your sleeve is very wet. What's happened?"

"Oh, nothing, I just..um.. spilt.. some.." she stammerd. She needed to stay strong. She could not let him comfort her. She could not let him get to her. She needed to pull out now. She needed to stay strong. She still had a plan. She could still get out. She needed to pay revenge on this man. Why was he being nice now? He had happily taken her from her home, and was more than happy to watch her fall. He wanted one thing from her and she knew that she was able to hold that away from him. She started to pull away and get out of the cot.

"Marguerite, are you crying?" he asked pulling her back.

"No! Of course not. I just need to get back to sleep," '_Damn the man, why can he make me want to cry all the more?' _

"Marguerite, you are to crying, what is wrong with you?" he asked again.

"Nothing, I'm just being a silly woman, remember. I'm just a stupid former princess with nothing more in my head than my own problems. So, please let me go back to sleep."

"Here," he said as he stood up. "Lay in the cot."

"Pardon me?"

"You heard me, " he said. " You need one night of decent sleep this week, so please take the cot and I will take the floor."

"I don't need charity from you. And according to who's standards are you calling a 'decent' night's sleep a night in a cot with one blanket in a freezing cold hut?" She spat.

"A poor peasant and his wife's standards. I'm sorry, Madame, but you are not the bloody queen of Prince Roxton. You were rejected from him because of the same bloody stubbornness that you are showing now!" he countered in a strained voice. Marguerite's eyes flashed at him and even in the darkness he knew that she had just taken the low blow with as much dignity as she could muster. James braced himself for another blow to the face, but instead, Marguerite sat on the cot and swung her legs over dramatically.

"Get in the bed," she said flatly. James just stared at her. "Well, we are married aren't we? It's not wrong for us to sleep in the same cot. So get in the damn bed." James slowly walked towards the side of the bed, still dumbstruck from the sudden change. He sat on the edge and Marguerite rolled over to face the wall. James laid down and turned his back to her. They lay there, sleeping and waking over and over through the night, their heads both spinning with thoughts, until morning. The sun broke over the horizon and Marguerite sat up. She looked tired and miserable. "Time to sell some pots," she sighed as she crawled out of bed.


End file.
